


I Thought I Could Fly Alone (I Can't Even Get Off the Ground)

by itsactuallycorrine



Series: Community Appreciation Week 2017 [5]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: (of course), 5+1 Things, Future Fic, Gen, Includes Some Jeff/Annie, Mentions of Death, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsactuallycorrine/pseuds/itsactuallycorrine
Summary: 5 Times Frankie Helped the Study Group (and the Dean) + 1 Time They Helped Her





	I Thought I Could Fly Alone (I Can't Even Get Off the Ground)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5, which has the prompt 5+1 fic.
> 
> I just... really love Frankie, you guys.

I.

Frankie jerks awakes when her phone rings in the middle of the night. Squinting at the bright display, she has to check the name twice, sure she’s reading it incorrectly. “Abed?” she answers. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

 

He begins to talk faster than she can keep up with, but she catches the words “Britta” and “Raiders” and “unreliable”.

 

“Take a breath, Abed,” Frankie says in her calmest voice, the one she perfected on her family at a very early age. And just like those eccentric people she somehow came from, Abed obeys. “Okay, slower this time. What is it you need me to get from Britta?”

 

“I accidentally left my _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ collector’s edition at the apartment. I’ve been asking Britta to ship it to me for months and she keeps forgetting.”

 

Frankie nods and jots it down on her bedside notepad. “Have you gotten a PO box in LA yet? I’ll send it there.”

 

Abed makes a high-pitched noise of distress. “No! The postal service can’t be trusted with it.”

 

“Alright,” Frankie says with a nod, underlining _NOT USPS_ in her notes three times. “I’ll have them send it directly to your apartment then.”

 

“And ask for a signature. I don’t want anyone walking away with it.”

 

“I can do that.” The line goes quiet and Frankie sighs. “How are you doing otherwise, Abed? Are you okay out there on your own?”

 

“Yes,” he says and, when she wait for him to elaborate, adds, “Good night,” and hangs up.

 

She pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at in bemusement. “Good night.”

 

 

II.

 

The third time in ten minutes Britta walks past her office door, Frankie gives up on the pivot table she’s working on and calls out, “What is it, Britta?”

 

Britta slinks in with a sheepish smile and plops into a chair. “Heeeeeeyyy, Frankie. How’s it goin’?”

 

“Well, things were significantly more productive before you started pacing in front of my office. Can I help you with something?”

 

Britta gives a dramatic sigh and tilts her head against the wall. “How are you with existential crisises?”

 

“The plural of crisis is crises, and I can’t say I’ve ever had one myself.” Frankie leans back in her chair. “But let’s give it a whirl. What’s wrong?”

 

“Everyone thinks me being a therapist is a terrible idea. And it’s so much work. What if I… What if I can’t do it?” Britta blinks hard and looks away. “What’s the point in even continuing to try? I’m a joke, and all I’ll ever be is a joke. It was dumb to think I could make a difference.”

 

“Hey, Britta, come on.” Frankie thinks carefully how to phrase her reply. Does she think Britta would be a good therapist? Honestly, no. But it’s Britta’s choice, her life. It’s not Frankie’s place to tell her she can’t do it. Although… “Maybe you do have a point.”

 

Britta gapes at her.

 

“You’ve barely even begun this journey and it’s already too hard for you?” Frankie clucks her tongue. “Yeah, you should probably just give up now. Since you obviously can’t do it.”

 

“I can, too!”

 

“That’s not what you said two minutes ago. Look at you, you can’t even commit to being self-defeatist. How are you going to commit to years of more schooling to get licensed?”

 

Britta stands and grabs her bag in a huff. “Screw you, Frankie! I can do anything I put my mind to! And I’m going to be the best damn therapist to ever come out of this place.” She leans forward with a sneer. “All just to spite you.”

 

Frankie gazes at her levelly and then lets the smile bloom. “Great. Problem solved then?”

 

Britta jerks back in surprise, then winces as she realizes what Frankie did. “I… I guess it is.” She sighs. “I can’t believe I fell for reverse psychology.”

 

“I told you,” Frankie says as she turns back to her computer, “the first week I knew you. You’re needlessly defiant of authority. It turns out this time, it was an asset.”

 

Britta smiles and walks out, hesitating in the doorway. “Thanks, Frankie.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

 

III.

 

Annie arrives at the threshold of Frankie’s office five minutes before she’d set the meeting. Luckily, Frankie anticipated her early arrival and has already finished up her ten o’clock, so she waves Annie in.

 

“I need a favor,” Annie asks before she takes two steps. “It’s kind of a big one.”

 

“I assumed. Normally you hold any Greendale business for the committee meetings.” With her pen poised, Frankie smiles. “What can I do for you?”

 

Annie sits at the edge of the chair and folds her hands in her lap. “Let me preface this by saying how much I admire you and everything you’ve done for Greendale. Your good opinion means the world to me and that’s why…” She exhales, but it’s shaky, as is the smile she pastes on. “I was wondering—hoping… Could you would write me a letter of recommendation for grad school?”

 

Touched, Frankie smiles. “Annie! I’m so glad to hear you’re pursuing a graduate program. Of course, I’ll write your letter.”

 

The nerves visibly drain out of Annie and her smile ratchets up in intensity. “Oh, thank you! Really, I can’t tell you how much it means to me.” She falters a bit. “Don’t… please don’t tell anyone yet. There’s a chance I won’t even get accepted and after Abed left and I got that internship this past summer… well, everyone’s been a little fragile. I don’t want to cause problems if it’s all for nothing.”

 

“You’re going to get in, Annie,” Frankie says with a roll of her eyes. “What school wouldn’t be proud to have you? But yes, I’ll wait until you know something official to mention it.”

 

“You’re the best, Frankie,” Annie says and practically skips out of the room.

 

Frankie gives it a few minutes, then pulls up the document she’d created months ago and proofreads it, before sending it off to Annie in an email with the subject line, “Letter of Recommendation”.

 

 

IV.

 

“FRANKIE!” The shout echoes down the hallway and Frankie’s off like a shot to find its source.

 

Of course, it’s the dean, who is clutching his keyboard to his chest and sobbing over his desk. “It’s gone! It’s gone!” he wails.

 

Frankie pries the keyboard from his arms and looks at his monitor, which shows a blank word processing document. “Craig, what’s gone?”

 

He makes some inarticulate noises, curling into the fetal position in his chair.

 

“Use your words, Dean!” she says, taking him by the shoulders. “Tell me what happened.”

 

“I don’t know! I was just typing and I must have hit some combination of keys, because it’s all GOOOOOOONE!” He tucks his face against his knees. “Years and years of work, wiped out. How will I ever go on?”

 

Frankie breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, this is not a big deal. We can have IT restore the file. What is it? Sensitive student information? Personnel files?”

 

“No,” he says, but doesn’t look up.

 

Suspicious aroused, Frankie straightens and stares down at him. “What is the file? IT can’t help if you don’t tell us.”

 

He sniffs. “It’s my novel. I’ve been working on it for _six years_.”

 

She glances at the computer, seeing the title of the document at the top: TIME DESK. “Is this it? The file you have open?” When he nods, she sighs. “So the file itself isn’t even lost, the text just got wiped out.”

 

“Yes! And you don’t have to sound so condescending! This is my _life’s work._ ”

 

Frankie leans over the keyboard and hits CTRL Z and the text pops back up.

 

Dean Pelton gasps. “You beautiful computer genius! How did you do that?”

 

And that’s how Frankie spends the rest of the morning showing him how to use the Undo command.

 

 

V.

 

Frankie hands Jeff his paycheck and turns to leave his office.

 

“Wait,” he says as he fiddles with the envelope in his hand. “Can I ask your advice?”

 

“Of course.” She balances the box of paychecks on her hip. “What’s wrong, Jeff?”

 

He sighs. “I have this friend. It’s not someone you know.”

 

“Given what I understand about your social life, that seems unlikely, but continue.”

 

“This was a bad idea. Never mind.”

 

Frankie frowns. “No, I’m sorry. Go on.”

 

“So my friend," he stresses, "he’s in love with this woman, but he hasn’t always treated her well. He jerked her around for a few years, making it seem like he wasn’t interested and waited until she’d moved on to confess his feelings. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see her again, but she came back into his life and now they’re kind of in a holding pattern.” He sucks in a deep breath. “But now she’s leaving. For real. And he doesn’t know what to do.”

 

“Well, Jeff, to be honest, romantic advice is not necessarily in my wheelhouse,” Frankie admits. When his face falls, she relents. “But I guess the only options your friend has is to either put himself back out there and offer to go with her, if that’s what she wants, or say nothing and lose out on that relationship.”

 

He nods with a troubled look on this face. “What if… What if she really doesn’t feel the same? And actually moved on?”

 

She smiles as kindly as she can. “Isn’t it better that he knows that for sure? So he can do the same?” When he doesn’t respond, just broods at the wall, she shrugs. “Tell your friend to sleep on it. And not to chase the answer in a glass of scotch.”

 

The corner of Jeff’s mouth tips up as he nods, and Frankie leaves him to his dilemma.

 

But once she’s back in her office, she starts writing up a job posting for a new law professor.

 

 

+1

 

Frankie’s vaguely aware of someone saying her name from the door of her office, but moving her head to look seems like too much effort. She wonders how long it’s been since she moved at all, given that it’s dark now and she’s almost positive the sun had still been out when she answered the phone. Which is still in her hand, she realizes as she stares numbly at the appendage as if it doesn’t even belong to her.

 

“Frankie? Are you okay?” a muffled voice she barely recognizes asks.

 

But Frankie can’t speak. If she opens her mouth, she’s not sure what’s going to come out.

 

Someone’s leaning over her, checking her pupils and pulse, while others murmur in the background.

 

“Frankie.” This voice is deep and compelling, and she manages to turn her eyes in its direction. Jeff frowns at her while Dean Pelton and Britta move around behind him. If they’re over there, that means the person examining her…

 

Annie’s hand falls away from Frankie’s wrist. “I think she’s in shock a little bit, but I don’t see anything wrong physically,” she tells the group. “Frankie, what happened?”

 

It comes back to Frankie in a flash: she’s still at work and this behavior is unacceptable. “I’m fine,” she says, wincing at how scratchy her voice comes out, and clears her throat. “I got an… upsetting phone call. But I’m fine. I’ll just go home.”

 

Jeff crosses his arms. “I’ll take you. And, no, that’s not a request,” he says before she can turn him down.

 

She’s not sure how it happens, but she’s trundled into his backseat along beside Britta with Annie turning in the front passenger seat every few minutes to check on her.

 

“It’s okay, Frankie,” Britta murmurs while petting her hair, and, absurdly, that's what breaks her.

 

“My father is dead,” Frankie rasps before the floodgate opens and she’s crying against Britta’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Greendale allows its staff five days for the bereavement of an immediate family member, and Frankie spends the majority of that dealing with the funeral arrangements. Her mother, who is flighty and irresponsible even under the best circumstances, is at loose ends and doesn’t know how to function without her husband. So it’s on Frankie to do everything. As always.

 

The night of the visitation, Frankie welcomes family and friends, trying to move everyone through the receiving line as orderly as possible. She’s given up on corralling her mother and lets her roam the funeral home freely, accepting condolences. Her sister sits in the front row of chairs, staring blankly at their father’s body in the open coffin, and Frankie’s grateful to the aunt who is keeping her company.

 

She turns away from the couple who lived next to her parents for thirty years to blink when she finds the familiar faces next in line. “Jeff? Annie? Britta? Craig? What are you doing here?”

 

“We couldn’t let you go through this alone,” Annie says, hugging Frankie.

 

Jeff shifts to the side and Frankie gasps. “Abed! You made it, too? Oh, you guys.”

 

They all merge into a group hug and Frankie can hear the murmurs from the rest of the receiving line, but she doesn’t care.

 

She dabs at her eyes when the hug breaks up. Annie touches her elbow before walking away to talk to Frankie's mother. Abed takes a seat on the other side of Frankie's sister and begins making stray observations while he people-watches. Britta and Jeff circulate through mourners, while Craig walks over to look at the pictures Frankie had painstakingly chosen to document her father's life.

 

Later, once the crowd starts to disperse, the funeral director tells Frankie it's time to close the casket.

 

Britta stands close enough to hear and tells Frankie, "We'll wait outside," but Frankie stops her by taking her hand.

 

"Don't," she says, more plea than command, and Britta nods. Annie takes Frankie's free hand, then reaches for Jeff's, and soon they're all linked together. Frankie swallows the sob of gratitude she feels building.

 

Her entire life, she’s been the rock that everyone depended on.

 

It’s nice, for once, to find that when she needs support, it’s been there, waiting for her.


End file.
